


Yeah, I Just...I had a Date

by shawarma



Series: The Superfamily Origins [1]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: All of Steve's friends are dead, Angst, F/M, Humor, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Old!Peggy, Post Avengers (Movie), Steve Rogers just has a lot of feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:31:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shawarma/pseuds/shawarma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1945, Steve Rogers and the woman he loves, Peggy Carter, make plans to go on a date. In 2012, Steve wakes up in a SHIELD facility, all of his friends dead, and everything he had known, gone.</p><p>But he has the Avengers now, and even though Clint does nothing but play video games, Natasha sharpens her knives just to scare people, Bruce hardly speaks, Thor doesn't know how to work a toaster, and Tony is suddenly being nice and making Steve fall in love with him, Steve finds it hard to completely let go. </p><p>And then he hears that Peggy is still alive.</p><p>Takes place soon after the events of The Avengers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yeah, I Just...I had a Date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ParkerStark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParkerStark/gifts), [apolloadama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolloadama/gifts).



> This fic was inspired by a post I saw on Tumblr here: http://darkly-stark.tumblr.com/post/26235194171/apolloadama-you-know-its-entirely-possible, and from there things just kind of snowballed viciously. I wrote this in a day and a half, and I'm sorry if anyone is OOC, but I just had to get it out before it lost it. I got close to no sleep due to writing this, and it hasn't been Beta'd so there might be some errors.
> 
> EDIT 9/7/12: This has been edited nice and proper, since I couldn't read through it without wincing.

Steve Rogers stared at the regulation, white walls of his SHIELD quarters. Over in a corner, a small radio played jazz music, and in another corner sat an iron desk, scattered with drawings and sketches.

It had been a good month since he had woken up and ran out into the twenty-first century streets of New York. It had only been two weeks since his first meeting with the team.

His team.

The Avengers.

Not the Howling Commandos.

Steve was still getting use to that.

After Loki and Thor had returned to Asgard, things had settled down. Bruce and Tony had gone off, and Natasha and Clint had melted back into the routine of regular SHIELD workers. (At least, Steve _hoped_ they had. He doesn't see them much around SHIELD HQ.)

He had been left alone. For the first time since waking up, Steve was grateful for the time to himself. Usually, the people around SHIELD gave him a fairly wide berth, unless they needed something, and Steve had hated it at first. He hadn't wanted to be left alone to think about what had happened.

The pain of losing everything he knew in, literally, the blink of his eyes, was devastating. He missed the simplicity of “the old days”, even though he had been poor and scrawny. Things like watching movies or having an entire sandwich for lunch, things that were rare in his decade, were considered normal in this strange, new one. But he still wanted it back.

 And then there was Peggy.

Steve looked down at the sketch pad in his hand. Her face stared back at him, big lips and expressive eyes. He hadn’t meant to, but he had drawn her how he imagined her to look in his last moments.

She had made him promise to meet up for a dance. Now, he was too—

Steve straightened up ( _his mother had always rapped his knuckles when he slouched, and for some reason, it wasn't at all strange that he missed the sting of the hit, and the scent of her perfume as she passed, and her wonderful smile_ ), closed the pad shut as he stood.

Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t too late.

***

“Sir.”

Nick Fury glanced up from his paperwork, his one eye searching his face intently before dropping back down. Steve stood straight, at attention, face carefully composed, yet he felt that every thought he had entertained that day had been extracted in the one cursory glance.

“Come on in, Rogers,” Fury finally said. “I was expecting you a while ago.”

Steve stepped inside the office, and closed the door behind him. He put his hands behind his back, and waited for further permission to speak.

When it became clear that Fury was neither going to talk, nor look back at him, he cleared his throat quietly.

“Sir, I was wondering if I could ask a favour,” Steve began. “There’s…there was this woman--”

“You referring to former Agent Carter.” Fury had a way of making everything he said a statement, questions included. This was no exception.

“Yes, sir. How did you know?”

This time, Fury did stop what he was doing and sat back. Eventually, he gestured for Steve to sit down in one of the black chairs in front of his wide desk. The leather squeaked loudly as Steve tried to find a comfortable position, and he resisted the urge to blush when Fury raised a brow.

“I suspected you might have some questions about your former…,” Fury paused before he said the word, “friends.”

Steve vaguely wondered if Nick Fury even had friends. For some reason, he didn’t really seem to be the type.

“For someone in your position, it would be natural to ask after them. It was only a matter of time, although I must say this was later than anticipated.” He opened one of the drawers at his desk and withdrew a manila envelope. It was still sealed, and Fury didn’t even look at it, as he slid it across the table for Steve to take.

Every person, every friend he had made during the war. Their lives were right in front of him, packaged tight in a folder, from beginning to end.

Steve took it, and tried not to let his hand shake too much.

***

**Name: Timothy Aloysius Cadwallader "Dum Dum" Dugan**

**Status: Deceased**

**Age when Deceased: 45**

**Cause of Death: Natural Causes**

**…**

**Name: Gabriel Jones**

**Status: Deceased**

**Age when Deceased: 53**

**Cause of Death: CLASSIFIED**

**…**

**Name: Jim Morita**

**Status: Deceased**

**Age when Deceased: 95**

**Cause of Death: Natural Causes**

**…**

**Name: James Montgomery Falsworth**

**Status: Deceased**

**Age when Deceased: 35**

**Cause of Death: CLASSIFIED**

**…**

**Name: James Barnes**

**Status: Deceased**

**Age when Deceased: 22**

**Cause of Death: UNKNOWN**

**…**

**Name: Jacques Dernier**

**Status: Deceased**

**Age when Deceased: 63**

**Cause of Death: Natural Causes**

**  
**

Steve set the papers down.

He couldn’t do this. He had thought—stupidly, _foolishly_ —if he hoped hard enough, they would still be alive. Obviously, his wishing had done nothing in the past except gotten him thrust into the future and all of his friends dead.

Steve took a moment to absorb the information. All of his friends had died. After all they had been through together, and they just _died_ , and a tiny part of him was angry about it. There was no reason to be, really, he knew. Besides, he had left them first.So despite his selfish anger, it was a big comfort, knowing that Dernier, Morita, and Dugan had died of natural causes, and that everyone had lived long enough to see the end of the war, at least.

Except for Bucky. Steve swallowed hard, lightly traced the letters of his best friend’s name with his fingers. He had slipped through Steve’s fingers, and Steve—

He closed his eyes. They were dry, but his throat was tight and uncomfortable.

When he opened his eyes, he felt marginally better. He gathered the papers he had spread across his bed, then put them in a stack. He didn’t want to read the exact details of his friends lives now—at least, the parts that weren’t SHIELD classified—but he would eventually.

In the packet, there were three more sheets of paper. They were the ones he most desperately wanted to see, and dreaded seeing.

Slowly, carefully, he eased the first paper out inch by inch, so he could read one line at a time:

 

**Name: Margaret Parker née Carter**

**  
**

Steve drew in a sharp breath and his hand froze.

Peggy had gotten married.

He felt the blow like a punch to the gut. Of course, she had been a very fine dame, and Steve had been lucky she wanted to get closer to him, so he had no right to be surprised.

He should have known, damn it. He should have _known_.

But to him, it wasn’t too long ago that they had talked, made plans, and he had wanted to—when the war was over he had planned on—

Steve’s fingers tightened around the paper, and he almost wanted to yank the rest of it clear out, _to have it done already_ —

“Knock, knock. What’s going on, Cap?”

Steve looked up. Tony Stark stood in the doorway to his room, a weird grin on his face. He looked official in the sharp suit he was wearing, similar to one he had been wearing when Steve had seen him last.

“God, this place is boring,” Tony continued, and pushed off the frame. He invited himself inside and kicked the door closed behind him. “I don’t know how you can stand it in here, really, I don’t. And where are the windows? Are they trying to drive you over the edge? You'd think after being stuck in a giant ice block in a sunken plane for nearly a decade, they'd at least get you a nice view of the dirty New York streets—”

“Mr. Stark,” Steve started, a frown working a way onto his face as Tony began thumbing through the drawings on his desk.

“Tony.”

Steve furrowed his brows for a moment, then sighed. He had planned for their next encounter to go a bit differently, mainly, with him apologising for his behaviour during their first meeting. The truth was, Tony was so much like his father (including the “fondue” bit, which was a realisation that only occurred after he’d had a chance to look up the meaning of the word “playboy”) that it had unsettled him deeply when they met for the first time; he couldn’t have stopped the words that had flowed from his mouth if he tried. When he had later heard about Howard’s attempts to find him, and his neglect of Tony as a result, Steve had felt ashamed for the cruel words he had spoken. His mother had taught him better than that. He vowed he would make it up to Tony, somehow.

“Alright. Tony,” he corrected. “About what I said—it was my first time—,” _being in contact with someone who wasn’t a member of SHIELD? Someone who was directly related to someone he considered a friend sixty-odd years ago?_

“Don’t worry about it Rogers,” Tony turned to him, his head cocked to the left, and he didn’t seem mad about what had happened, the apology going unspoken but still known, something for which he was grateful. Even though he was looking at Steve, he felt as if Tony was really thinking a hundred other things at the same time. “Everybody gets performance anxiety their first time. I’d say even me, but hey, I’m not about to start lying—”

“Tony, was there something you wanted?” Steve had a vague idea of what Tony was referring to, but he didn’t think it was proper to ask for clarification in case it had something to do with…fondue.

“Yeah, actually.” The man stepped closer, hands tucked into his pockets, and smiled mischievously. “I’m here to bust to you out.”

***

It turned out to be that springing Steve from SHIELD HQ was a lot more difficult than Tony had made it seem initially. There were a lot of raised voices, threats, pouting, and bribing, all of which were performed by Tony.

Finally, Fury relented to letting Steve leave. He had a feeling that even after he was gone he would be under some sort of surveillance. Sure enough, as they pulled up to Stark Tower (“Yes, this is really where I live. I believe you called it a ‘great big ugly building’, or something like that, and hey, that’s you. Just don’t let Jarvis hear you saying it, otherwise your coffee will taste funny for a month.”) a man was already parked and ready to meet them at the doors.

“Agent Coulson,” Steve nodded his head in the man’s direction as they approached.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Captain,” Coulson responded, his usually cool, even tone slightly sped up.

“Please, call me Steve.”

For the briefest of moments, an expression of glee passed across Coulson’s face, but he quickly tapered it down.

Tony waltzed over to Coulson’s side, raised a hand as if to clamp him on the shoulder, then seemed to think better of it when the man glared at the appendage.

“Hey, Phil—”

“That’s Agent to you, Stark.”

“Well,” Tony drew back, and pushed open one of the doors leading inside. “We all know who the favourite here is.”

Coulson and Steve followed Tony down the wide hallway, and he tried not to gawk. It was clear the “billionaire” part hadn’t been an over exaggeration. They got into an elevator, and Tony pressed his hand to a black screen on the side. Since Steve had seen a few of these around SHIELD, he knew that it allowed certain people in some places and restricted others, just by handprint recognition. Not for the first time, Steve found himself in awe of the technological advances made in the few decades that had passed.

There was a tiny bell sound and the three of them rode up to the top floor in silence. It was awkward, at least for him. Tony was tapping furiously on his tiny cellular phone, and Coulson seemed to be fidgeting with something inside his jacket. Steve hoped it wasn’t a gun.

When the doors finally slid open, Tony swept past the two of them, calling, “Honey! I’m home!”

Steve stepped out cautiously, wondering who he could talking to, when a voice responded, “Very good, sir. Would you like to hear your voice messages?”

He blinked and swung around. The crisp, British tones bounced off the walls, coming from everywhere and nowhere. Coulson stepped past him, not looking surprised in the least.

Tony had flopped down on one of the couches and picked up a thin pad. His fingers pushed out and pulled together, much like he had seen some agents do. He was working on something, most likely.

“Are they all from Pepper?” He asked, wrinkling his nose. “Because if they are, you can go ahead and delete them. She really needs to get used to how I run my company.”

“I believe that Ms. Potts is currently the CEO of Stark Enterprises,” the voice responded, its tone more than a little reproving.

“Oh. Hm,” Tony hummed for a moment. In the meantime, Steve had made his way across the room to where there was a bar counter set up. Coulson had poured himself a glass of something clear, and Steve shook his head when the man silently offered him some.

“Wait, did you just talk back to me?”

“I merely rectified Sir’s incorrect statement.”

“Oh don’t give me that sass.” Tony sat up and shook his finger at nothing. It was almost amusing. “Don’t forget who made you!”

“Never, sir.”

Tony slumped back on the couch and craned his head to look over at Steve. Coulson was talking in a low voice on the phone—most likely Fury or Maria Hill—so he missed the near-childish grin that was directed his way.

“That was my AI, Jarvis,” he explained. “He can be pretty snarky most of the time, well, all of the time actually, but he’ll do anything you ask. So if you need something, Jarvis can do it for you. He’s pretty cool and stuff, since that’s how I designed him.”

Steve was learning more and more every day that passed, but this AI (he'd have to see what that stood for later) was something entirely different. Machines that could not only do anything you asked, but talk as well? It had its only personality?

“Amazing,” Steve whispered, in awe.

“Thank you, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis replied.

***

It had been three weeks since Steve had been allowed to leave SHIELD. Since then, he’d finally had the chance to look around New York properly. (Going through Time Square was still a bit of an issue, though.) After Tony had all but forced him to stay in Stark Tower

(“You’re going to love it,” Tony said, sipping an alcoholic drink with one hand and fiddling with something on his tablet with the other. “As long as you don’t disturb me when I’m in my lab, it ruins my mojo and stuff, you pretty much have run of the place.”

“Tony, I—,” Steve rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks slightly pink, “I can’t impede on your hospitality. I can come back to visit some other time, if you’d like.”

Tony paused, fingers mid-swipe, and squinted up at him. “Huh, you really are from the forties, aren’t you, Capsicle? I don’t even think my grandparents talk like that—well, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t even if I had grandparents. Look, don’t worry about it. It’s all been taken care of, and you’ll have your own customized room in no time.” Steve’s protests were brushed off when he heard those words, and Tony continued on. “The room you had at SHIELD was so empty and white, I wanted to take my repulsors to them, just to see something on the walls. Whoever decided on the colour scheme of that place really needs to be fired. Besides, Coulson will be here, too, mainly so he can gush at you from up close instead of from afar, like he normally does in that creepy stalker-ish way he does most things when you’re involved—”

“Supernanny, Stark. Don’t forget that.”

“—and with that, I’ll be off. Jarvis, please monitor Coulson’s movements and inform me if he even comes on the same floor as me with a Taser.”)

Steve had spent the first few days attempting to do the same thing he had done at SHIELD, which was, essentially, nothing except draw. On the fourth day, Tony had burst into his room, forced him to get dressed, and dragged him outside.

“Where are we going?” Steve had asked.

 “We are going to see New York, starting with some hotdogs from one of those carts. Then, we’ll just wing it. I’ve learned that planning things too far in advance doesn’t really work for me.”

They had gone for hotdogs, then proceeded to take a ferry, go to a museum, and the Statue of Liberty. In truth, he had thought spending so much time in Tony’s company would be awkward, but it never happened. At one point, Coulson even appeared, and walked around with them for a while. Neither of them mentioned how much they had disliked each other on sight, and it was easy to imagine that the fight between them hadn’t even occurred. Tony handed him a StarkPhone at the end of the day (“Much better than that piece of crap SHIELD gave you,” Tony scoffed.), told him that there were only seven contacts in the phone, and, in case he had been wondering—which he hadn’t—Tony was speed-dial number one.

Steve saw the phone, over all that Tony had already done, as a symbol of his first honest gesture towards him. He figured it was alright, now, if they classified as friends.

The next morning, Steve got up at six and went for a run. By the time he got back, a coffee and bag of bagels in hand, Tony had emerged from his workshop. Steve had handed him the cup and watched as the man’s face lit up like a child’s during Christmas. He had gulped it down, slapped Steve on the back, and told Steve they would be going out again that day.

For almost a week, they just toured the New York sites. When Steve had finally gathered his courage after a few days, he asked if they could go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Tony had all but beamed and exclaimed, “Now we’re getting somewhere, Cap! I thought you’d never ask.”

(And it had seemed a bit peculiar, that they had been avoiding that place. Now he knew why.)

They spent a better part of the day there, and for once, Tony didn’t take out his phone or some other electronic to distract himself with.

By the time they got back to Stark Tower, Coulson had returned from a mission he had disappeared off to a few days previously, and he had brought guests.

“Barton, get your feet off my table,” Tony said, cheerily, as a way of greeting.

“Fuck you, Stark,” the archer replied, just as cheerfully.

“Sorry, you’re not really my type.” Tony turned to Natasha, who merely arched a brow. He blanched. “I don’t like being stabbed, so I’m not going to say anything about how your dirty boots are ruining the cushions.”

Tauntingly, Natasha rubbed her boots around on the fabric of the couch she was reclined on.

“Right, good. Okay then,” Tony clasped his hands together. “Jarvis? Jarvis, honey, how many times have I told you not to let unauthorized visitors into the Tower?”

“Ms. Romanoff entered an override code,” the AI answered crisply. “I had no choice but to let her inside, sir.”

Tony slanted his eyes in Natasha’s direction.

“Are you _seriously_ still talking with Pepper?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Shit. Alright, Jarvis, we’ve gotta start reprogramming the access codes on this place, like, yesterday.”

Tony took off down the hall to where the door leading to his lab was, leaving Steve with Clint, Natasha, and Coulson. He crossed over to them.

“It’s good to see you again, ma’am,” he shook Natasha’s hand, and the corners of her mouth pulled up about a centimeter. For her, that was smiling.

“Please, no formalities.”

Steve turned to shake Clint’s hand, but he waved him off. “But you can call me ‘Sir’ if you like. Or ‘Master’, if that makes you feel comfortable.” He waggled his eyebrows.

When Steve blushed, Natasha elbowed Clint in the side, hard.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Steve took a seat in one of the chairs diagonal from the couch, “what are you two doing here?”

Natasha tilted her head and looked at a black duffle bag sitting next to Coulson.

“We brought the rest of your stuff from SHIELD to you.”

***

“Tony?”

“Hm?”

“You need to eat.”

Tony didn’t even pause from what he was working on, and Steve sighed. When he wasn’t wandering around, half-crazed from loss of sleep and too much caffeine, he was down in his workshop. Steve thought his dedication to his work, his ability to create, was very awe inspiring. He hated interrupting Tony when he was focused so intensely, but he also didn’t want Tony to get sick because he wasn’t treating his body correctly.

Steve had started bringing him snacks throughout the day, and leaving them near Tony so he could eat, and when he went back down to the workshop to collect the plates, he was pleased to see that Tony was actually eating what he left. Then, he worked his way up to meals. Most days out of the week, Steve made Tony breakfast and dinner, but he had always brought the food to him. It had occurred to him a few days ago that, maybe he could convince Tony to take a break and actually eat at a table for once.

“What? Yeah, sure,” he muttered absently, and Steve almost couldn’t hear it over the sound of the blowtorch Tony was handling. “Just leave it.”

“No, Tony,” Steve said, voice firm. “You’re going to eat at your kitchen table tonight. You need to take a break from your work.”

With a sigh, Tony switched off the blowtorch and pushed the goggles on his face up to his hairline, making the hair there stick up.

“Fine,” he grumbled. He set the torch down to the side, pulled of his gloves, and started for the door. “What’s to eat, Cap? It better be a roasted pig, with the apple in its mouth and the whole nine years, otherwise there will be serious consequences for pulling me away like this.”

As the door closed shut behind him, Steve blinked, unable to move, he was so taken aback.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes Captain Rogers?”

“Is this a test? Convincing him shouldn’t have been this easy.”

Jarvis paused before answering, his tone thoughtful. “Sir has never displayed this kind behaviour previously, but, yes, Captain Rogers, for you, it did seem to be just that simple.”

Steve turned the wording Jarvis used over in his mind. _For you._

***

In the time that had passed, Steve had learned many things. Though he had held off for a while, he had eventually taken the initiative to ask Jarvis to locate the graves of his friends, (since, for some odd reason, they hadn’t been included in the files Fury had given him) one at a time. He had visited them, prayed over their graves, and left. For each one he visited, it was nonsensically hard to take the first steps towards finding which exact headstone was theirs, but by the time he left, another tiny piece of Steve—a part of him that desperately longed for the comfort of all he had known—was stripped away. It left him a little bare, but feeling lighter.

Bucky didn’t have a grave, but after talking with Coulson, he had arranged for a memorial stone to be placed in a cemetery in Brooklyn.

Now, the only person left was Peggy.

A good two and a half weeks had gone by since Clint and Natasha had come over to drop his bag off and just decided to stay

(Tony paused in the doorway to the kitchen, and stared at Clint—who was eagerly banging his fork like a toddler, demanding Steve make his oh-so-delicious eggs _faster_ —and Natasha, who was sipping from a coffee mug clearly labeled **T O N Y**.

“Fuck it, I’m going back to work.”

And that was the last time he had commented on it.)

and it was as if, by deciding to stay at Stark Tower, they had brought the bad guys with them.

Steve had met supervillians in spandex and giant slimy squids and even vicious mannequins so far, and, between SHILD debriefs, planning, and working out in the gym Tony had designed a while ago, but apparently never used, he hadn’t spent too long thinking about Peggy.

One morning, after a particularly nasty fight with Doctor Doom (which had prompted a surprise visit from Bruce Banner, who afterwards, also decided to take up residence in the Tower), Steve sat at the kitchen table. He was eating a bowl of oatmeal, and looking at the thin, manila envelope Natasha had brought along with the rest of his things, that would tell him whether or not Peggy was still alive.

If anything, the dread he felt had increased in the time he had spent avoiding opening it.

With a deep breath, Steve set down his spoon, and picked the folder up. He reached inside to slide the piece of paper out—

“Yo, Steve!”

He blinked, startled by the sudden shout, and turned his head to see Clint standing in the doorway. He was grinning big, and when their eyes met, he beckoned for Steve to get up.

“There’s something you need to see, like, right now."

“Can you give me a minute?” Despite the fact that he said that, Steve had already risen from his chair and placed the envelope to the side. “I’m in the middle of something.”

“I really don’t think it can wait.”

“IS THAT THE GOOD CAPTAIN?”

***

Steve stepped over Clint, who was sprawled on the ground, and tried to quietly make his way to the bathroom.

After Thor had shown up (“It is very good indeed to be back in the company of great friends! We shall celebrate this occasion with drink!”) and they filled him in on their missions, Tony had emerged from his lab a few hours later with the promise of getting drunk. Steve and Bruce had highly disapproved—not only that he was drinking heavily, but because Tony hadn’t had anything to eat that day besides coffee and that certainly wasn’t good for his stomach—but were ignored.

To avoid turning into the Hulk, Bruce ended up excusing himself before things got too ugly. Said it might ruin the party mood if the other guy showed up and started smashing things. Clint and Natasha egged Tony's "chugging" on, and Coulson, whom Steve had never seen consume more than a glass a day, kind of let loose, at least, in Coulson standards.

“It’s just, this has always been my dream job,” Coulson told him. He wasn’t slurring, but the gleam in his eyes and his unfiltered confessions told Steve he was more than, if not as drunk as Tony and Clint, who were across the room trying to see who could drink the most alcohol in an hour without becoming too intoxicated. So far, Thor seemed to be winning and he wasn’t even playing.

“When I saw you on that ice, it was really a miracle,” Coulson was saying. “Because how many people get to watch as their hero is thawed from ice after almost seventy years?”

“None that I can think of.” Steve shifted.

A drunken shout drew both of their eyes back to Clint and Tony. Natasha had Clint in some sort of headlock with her legs, and Tony had slung an arm over Thor’s shoulders as the man taught him an Asgardian drinking song. Steve couldn’t help but smile at the picture his friends made.

His mind produced an image of his friends during their rare days of downtime during the war. They had gone to a bar, gotten drunk, attempted to get Steve drunk too. They were all pretty rowdy drunks, and they liked to talk loud and sing and mock fight. Peggy was the only exception. As a woman, she wasn’t as vulgar as the guys, but she could hold her own. She won every drinking contest they held.

Just then, in the middle of remembering how, on one particular occasion, she had smiled at him so prettily, with her deep red lips and dark eyes, and had he just wanted to _touch_ even if it hadn’t been proper, Tony halted mid-note and smiled at him. His deep brown eyes sparkled with mirth, and the grin stretched across his face made him even more handsome. Something in Steve's chest _twisted_ , and he winced slightly, rubbing the area with his hand. In some ways, Tony reminded Steve of Peggy.

“Hey! Sch...sexy!” Tony broke their connection and grabbed onto Clint’s thigh. “I’ve got some new arrows that I just finished? They make things blow up waaay better than the one’s you’ve already got. Jarvis tells me they’re the best thing I’ve ever done, but he has to say that about everything I do. ”

And more often than not, Tony reminded Steve that he was one of a kind.

Steve glanced over at Coulson, who was humming something under his breath, as an idea came to mind. It mind be silly, but…“If I wanted to find someone who wasn’t from around here, would you be willing to help me?”

Coulson contemplated him for a brief sober moment.

“How ‘not from around here’ are we talking about?” He asked.

After Steve had detailed his hesitation over Peggy, and how it had only just occurred to him that since she was European, she might not be in America anymore, Coulson folded his hands.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Not, Steve thought, washing his hands and opening the door to the bathroom, that Coulson was likely to remember anything in the morning. He had been intoxicated at the time, after all.

When he got back to the living room, Natasha and Thor were still lying in their respective chairs, and Clint had curled himself up at Coulson’s feet, like a cat. Tony sat propped up against a wall, a tablet dangling from his fingers, and mouth hanging open.

Steve smiled and began cleaning up. In some odd sort of way, he had become comfortable here, in the Tower, with the others. And he convinced himself that, even if Coulson did remember in the morning, and it turned out Peggy was in England, buried somewhere, he wouldn’t be too broken up about it because he had his team—his _friends_ —to keep him steady.

***

“I was held hostage for a while, in Afghanistan.” Was Tony’s way of greeting.

Steve lifted his head from the drawing in his lap, and peered at Tony curiously as he settled himself down by his side, one of the many tablets he owned placed between the two of them. It was dark outside, but combined with Steve’s good vision and the faint blue glow of the arc reactor, he could see just fine.

“Pardon?”

Tony chuckled, though it held none of the humour it usually did, and placed his palm over the arc reactor.

“Obviously I didn’t always have this thing sticking out of my chest, but after a nasty run in with some shrapnel, the doctor on hand performed surgery to prevent my heart from being torn to shreds. Hence, the hole. Well, there was this whole thing with a car battery, and you can imagine how much carrying that everywhere kind of cramped my style. But I managed.”

Steve frowned.

“Tony, you don’t have to tell me this.” He didn’t want to be told anything Tony wasn’t willing to share, and he was always stiff about this kind of personal information.

“And sometimes,” Tony continued on as if he hadn’t spoken, “when I’m in the water too long, I panic. I was tortured, dunked into water a lot, when I refused to build stuff for them. So, I get it, Cap. Really, I do.”

Steve glanced back down at his sketch. It was simple, just a few glaciers and a span of ice that made up the ground. But there was an area in the ground where the ice jutted awkwardly, as if something large had plunged through it. It was how he had imagined the aftereffect of his dive into the Arctic would look to an observer.

“I didn’t mean to freeze up like I did,” Steve murmured, finally looking Tony in the eye. He tried not to look away, wanting to seem more confident than he really was, even though Tony could probably see right through his act. “I only…when I saw the ice begin to appear I panicked, and I didn’t know how to stop. It’s never happened to me before today, at least not while I was awake.”

There was a long pause, then Steve reached to crumple the drawing. He didn’t really know why he had drawn it in the first place.

Tony stopped him, his tanned hand clenching Steve’s wrist before quickly letting go.

“Sorry, but I don’t want your litter on the roof of my tower. You should know better, seeing as you’re Mr. Goody Two American Shoes. Don’t you advertise against that kind of stuff? You’re lucky there's no press around, they would have a field day with this.” He rambled, and Steve tried to focus on what he was saying, but his wrist seemed to be burning where Tony had touched him, which was ridiculous. “Geez, Cap, I know you want to get rid of it, but wait until you get back inside at least.”

And when Tony looked at him with those _eyes_ and that _smile_ , Steve felt his chest do that weird prickly tightening thing it had started doing when he got around Tony. It had taken Steve a while to realise that he used to feel a similar sensation after he got to know Peggy. Looking Tony in the face had been a bit awkward for the first few days after he made the connection, and when he stammered Clint and Tony teased him mercilessly, but he had since accepted what he felt and hoped Tony would never notice. He couldn’t afford to lose his friend—his best friend, he realised Tony was becoming..

“What are you working on?” Steve gestured to the tablet that had been set down.

Tony’s face brightened and he picked the device up, doing a few things with his fingers on it before describing how exactly he was going about modifying the repulsors for the Iron Man suit, attempting to duplicate some fire weapon of Coulson’s, and building Steve a new set of punching bags (this time with a titanium center since the last ones hadn’t fared too well) simultaneously. Even though he didn’t understand about a third of the scientific terms Tony was using, he let himself think that, somehow, after Afghanistan, Tony had found a way to be happy again, just from surrounding himself with his work. It wasn’t quite the same as Steve’s situation, but it was a comfort nonetheless.

***

“Captain Rogers?”

Steve liked to think he was adjusting the future pretty well—certainly better than Thor, who, after three months in the Tower, still didn’t know how to cook something without smashing or burning being involved—but Jarvis never failed to make him feel slightly unsettled during their first few seconds of conversation, especially when he started one out of nowhere. Like now.

“Yes, Jarvis?” Steve dropped his pencil and flexed his fingers. He could do with a break anyways.

“As your mobile phone is currently dead, Agent Coulson has asked me to inform you that he has come across some research that might interest you,” Jarvis told him, and Steve’s heart leapt into his throat. “He was wondering if you might be available to discuss things at the coffee shop down the street.”

_Peggy._

It had been months since their conversation. Neither of them had brought it up again so Steve had assumed Coulson forgot about his request. A few days prior, Coulson had left the mansion. Everyone knew he was often sent out on missions by Fury, but this time he had left a note saying he would be back within a few days, when he would usually disappear and then reappear once he had finished a job.

Now here he was, back from his trip, asking to talk to Steve away from any prying eyes and ears.

 “If you could please tell Coulson it won’t be a problem, and that I’ll meet him there in fifteen minutes?” He stood, looking around for his sneakers. 

“Very good, Captain. I shall inform him immediately.”

***

“I’m sorry it took so long, but,” Coulson slid a small square of folded paper across the table, “here it is.”

Steve bit his lip and picked it up. Slowly, he unfolded the slip, ready to see the name of what cemetery she was buried in.

 

**Amherst, New York**

**Oakley Nursing Home and Rehabilitation Center**

**  
**

“Is this…Peggy, she’s…” Steve felt his chest tighten painfully and his eyes start to sting.

_Peggy was alive._

“I located her position and approached her myself,” Coulson explained, pulling a white cloth from the pocket of his jacket and offering it to Steve. He pretended not the notice the red and blue trimmed edges, and the Captain America logo on the side, as he wiped his eyes. “It took some convincing, but I finally got her to listen to my story. Well, your story. I showed her a few pictures of you, and she’s agreed to see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Steve’s head snapped up, a panicked expression on his face. “But, that’s too soon. I don’t have time to—have time to—”

“Breathe, Steve.”

A hand clamped down on his shoulder and he jumped. Tony settled himself down onto the chair next to Steve’s. Coulson narrowed his eyes.

“What are you doing here, Stark?” He asked suspiciously.

“Jarvis,” Tony shrugged. Steve noticed he still had grease smudges on his hands, as if he had dropped whatever he was doing to leave his workshop and come to the cafe. As if he was concerened about Steve. “If you want to keep a secret, the last thing you should have done was tell my _personal_ AI that you wanted to meet up someplace to gossip like a bunch of girls. So what’s this all about?”

After Tony gave him an inquisitive look, Steve began to explain from the beginning. About the Howling Commandos, about Peggy, about his trips to the graves of his friends, and his dread over hearing whether or not Peggy had also passed away.

“So I asked Coulson to see if he could find her, in case she was buried oversees somewhere,” Steve finished.

“No offence, Cap, but I don’t understand why this had to be all hush, hush. You could have told any one of us, or at least, any one of us that wasn’t Coulson.  I know the guy is, like, your biggest fan and you might feel bad if you don’t stop and pet him occasionally, but we could have helped you find your girlfriend.” And even if Steve imagined the hurt that shone briefly in Tony’s eyes at hearing that he had spilled his secrets to Coulson instead of him, it was still comforting. “We wouldn’t have judged you or anything, even if the seventy year time gap is a little weird. Okay, it’s more than a little weird, it’s downright creepy, but, hey, some people go for that kind of thing.”

Steve gave him his best disapproving look, and Tony apologized to Coulson for implying he was a dog.

“Don’t be jealous, Stark,” Coulson said coolly. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“You’re mom’s jealous.”

“Tony!” Steve couldn’t believe he had actually brought up Coulson’s mother up in their small tiff.

“She said she wanted to meet tomorrow, right?” Tony asked, bringing the scrap piece of paper with the address of the nursing home, up to his face, probably so he wouldn’t have to look at Steve. “I’ll arrange to have someone take you over in the morning, so you can have a few hours to talk.”

Steve placed a hand on Tony’s arm and squeezed gently.

“Thanks, you don’t know how much this means to me,” he said, and Tony’s eyes widened in horror when Steve had to use the handkerchief again.

“Yeah, yeah, enough with the chick flick, girly feelings.” But even as Tony said this, his countenance softened. “Just wipe your face before someone notices that you’re crying. I’m pretty sure it’s a capital offence to make Captain America cry, and Pepper can’t afford to do any more damage control for me right now.”

As Steve laughed, suddenly feeling anxious and excited for the next day (Because he was finally going to visit Peggy! Beautiful, kind, strong Peggy who was still very much _alive_.), Coulson quietly sat across from them, watching the two of them, a peculiar look on his face.

***

Steve could barely contain his surprise when Tony stepped out the driver’s seat of the sleek black car.

“What are you doing here?” He asked a bit rudely, switching the small bag he held to his other hand.

“Well, good morning to you too,” Tony responded, sounding wry. He put his sunglasses on, and grinned rakishly, “I told you I would arrange for someone to take you. So, for today, I’m ‘someone’, and I’m here to take you to meet with your lady. Now, let’s get moving, otherwise we’ll never get there.”

***

Just outside of Amherst, Steve had Tony stop so he could pick out a bouquet of flowers to present to Peggy. The shopkeeper, whose name was Sharon, greeted him cheerfully and helped him pick out the right kind, once he told her he was going to visit an old friend. He eventually settled on a set of yellow roses that were just beginning to bloom. Tony tried to pay for it, claiming he had more than enough money, but Steve refused.

“Next time,” he promised.

They got back in the car and continued on to the nursing home, the little machine (that sounded suspiciously a lot like Jarvis) directing their every move. When they were told they were just down the street, Steve’s breathing hitched and his fingers tightened around the flower stems.

Tony didn’t notice until they had pulled into parking lot and stopped the car that Steve seemed to be having some sort of problem getting his lungs to function.

“Cap? Hey, Cap! You’ve got be breathe, Steve!” Tony gave him a firm shake, causing him to blink several times. “You have got to stop doing that. You’re a super solider, not a human-fish mutant, or whatever.”

“Tony?”

“Hm?”

Steve gulped.

“Nothing.”

The two climbed out of the car, and approached the double doors at the front of the building. Steve held the door open for Tony, and followed in after. A circular desk sat in the middle of the entrance hall, and they headed towards it. The receptionist sitting there looked up as they approached, and offered them a grin.

“Good morning!” The receptionist chirped. “How can I help you today?”

“I,” Steve cleared his throat and straightened his spine, “I’m here to see a Mrs. Margaret Parker.”

The woman turned to her computer (some brand that had Tony muttering under his breath about people using Stone Age technology) and typed something in. His name must have popped up, because she turned back to him and asked, “Steven Rogers?”

“Yes, that’s me,” Steve confirmed.

“I’m going to need to see some identification, and then I’ll let you go on back.” She held her hand out, and it took Steve a moment to figure out that she probably wanted to see his drivers’ license. He offered it, and she only gave it a cursory glance before returning it. She made him sign his name on a piece of paper, then stood up to show him where to go.

Before he left, Steve turned to Tony, who had, surprisingly, remained mostly quiet.

“Call me if you need anything,” he said, and Steve nodded. “I brought my tablet, so I’m just going to sit out here and work some.”

“Thanks Tony,” Steve told him, grateful that Tony would be there supporting him, even if he wasn’t nearby.

He followed the receptionist through a pair of doors, to a wide, bright sitting room. It was quiet, with the exception of a television going in a corner, and there were only a few elderly people about. With all its bleak features and empty spaces, Steve was instantly reminded of his old room at SHIELD.

“She’s just over there, Mr. Rogers,” the receptionist stopped a ways away from a slightly hunched figure. “I’m not sure if you know this, but she’s got plenty of fire left in her, so don’t try and coddle her.” And then she left Steve.

Steve tightened his grip on both the bag and the bouquet, and made his way over to the woman. When he came to a stop just behind her shoulder, he cleared his throat, said, “Excuse me, ma’am,” and she turned to see who was talking.

He recognized her instantly. Even though she had long turned grey, and her piercing brown eyes had been tinged with milky white. Even though she was much more frail, and was sitting in a wheelchair. The determined glint in her eyes, the strong set of her jaw, gave it away. It was Peggy. His Peggy.

“S-Steven.” Her voice was thin, weak, but he could hear her loud and clear.

He knelt down next to her wheelchair, looked up into her eyes, tried to smile. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting so long, Peggy.”

Tears filled her eyes, and she grasped at his hand.

“You…you…” And Peggy began to weep. Tears trickled down her wrinkled face, and silent sobs shook her shoulders. He had never, not once, seen Peggy cry, she had always been a strong woman, but seventy years of silence, of believing him to be dead, was her breaking point, it seemed.

A great pressure released itself from Steve at that moment, one he had carried ever since he had opened his eyes and asked, _“Where’s Peggy?”_ and he held on tight and finally allowed himself to cry with her.

***

It took a while before they stopped crying. Every time Peggy would calm down, she would look at his face, and would start all over again. Steve wound down first, taking deep, shuddery breaths to calm himself, but remained engulfed in Peggy’s fragile arms, doing an awkward kneel/crouch.

When Peggy was finally able to look at him long enough without bursting into tears, he patted her back a few more times, and withdrew. His face was probably red and blotchy, but he couldn’t hold back the smile that broke across his face, which was hesitantly returned. He pulled a chair up so he could sit in front of her, and set the roses in her lap.

“You—,” Peggy started, then had to start over when her voice failed her. “You turn up after sixty-seven years with flowers and expect a girl to forgive you?”

He laughing, loudly, because it was the last thing he had expected her to say, and really, what would be the proper thing to say in a situation like theirs?

“Yes,” he said, still chuckling. “but I didn’t only bring flowers. Do you remember Glenn, from the Air Force?”

“Trumpin’ Trombone Miller?” Peggy smiled fondly. “Of course. He was unforgettable. Why do you ask?”

“I could never forget the night we all sat around and watched Miller’s band play through the night,” Steve reached forward and grasped her hand, squeezed it gently before letting it go in favour of the bag at his feet. “You talked about his music for days afterwards.”

Steve unzipped the bag and carefully lifted out a record player. (Tony had given it to him a while ago, fixed up and ready to use, after he saw Steve come back from a store with a few records in hand.) Two vinyl records followed close after, both with Glenn Miller’s name and face printed on the covers.

“I thought you might enjoy listening to these, as well,” he said softly, handing them over to her.

Peggy ran a hand reverently over the covers and pressed her lips together, as if trying not to cry again.

“Yes, yes thank you, Steven.”

He smiled.

“So,” he sat back, “You got married. Who was the lucky fellow?”

Peggy smiled fondly, with a twinge of sadness, and answered, “His name was Gregory Parker. He was from here. We met a few years after you…” her voice wobbled slightly, “after you disappeared. He could be so foolish at times, and when we first met he pestered me until he was able to get himself a date. But I loved him very much.”

“How long ago did he pass away?”

“A few years back. My oldest son, Benjamin, had us placed here long before that, but when Gregory died, he stopped visiting.” Peggy’s tone was bitter.

Steve made a sympathetic noise.

“My youngest son, Richard, died soon after in an airplane crash,” she continued. “His son, Peter, was placed into Benjamin’s care when he was just a small boy.”

“Do you ever see him?” Before he had even finished his sentence, Peggy was shaking her head.

“No.”

Steve would hate to be in Peggy’s position. She had left her life in England to be with the man she loved and to raise a family, and the ones that were still alive didn’t come see her.

“But enough about me,” Peggy smiled softly, and stroked the petals of the flowers. “Tell me what happened to you. That nice, young fellow in the suit—”

“Phil Coulson,” he supplied.

“Yes, Phil, told me everything, but I want to hear it from you.”

Peggy, so different from how he had known her, but also exactly the same, asked one thing of him, and he couldn’t help but consent. He owed it to her.

So Steve told her from the beginning, leaving nothing out, what had happened when he had woken up. He told her about the fake room he had awoken in, to bursting outside and straight into Time Square. How he had been tested for days and restricted from leaving SHIELD until they allowed him, and how, even after he was allowed, he didn’t want to. He told her about the Avengers, described each one of them in detail, right from the moment he met each one of them. She listened seriously as he told her about The Avengers Initiative, and laughed lightly when he told her about their wild crazy times at Stark Tower, where everyone had their own specially designed rooms on separate floors, yet most nights of the week they ended up falling asleep on the living room furniture sprawled across one another. And he told her about Tony.

He had been hesitant about revealing any of his deeper feelings for his friend—they had born in the nineteen-twenties after all, where such a thing was taboo—but she had waved a veiny near-translucent hand, told him that Benjamin had gone through a phase when he was a young adult, where he told her and George he preferred men to woman, before finally settling down with his wife, May. Steve told her—blushing red the entire time—everything he could think of about Tony, from the time he first realized he was in love with him, to problems they had encountered on their way to being friends.

Hours passed as he talked, and Peggy sat and listened, often breaking in to contribute her own thoughts or to share a story, and when he was finally finished, Peggy grasped one of his hands between hers.

“Steven, I can’t say how much this means to me,” she said, sounding grateful. “I’d always known you were a strong person, even before you took the serum, and I’m happy that you survived; that you can help defend our country now as you did before.”

“Thanks.” Steve covered her hands with his free one. “And I’m glad that I was finally able to find you, after all this time. Everyone else had died and I—I couldn’t bear the thought of you being dead, too.”

Peggy and Steve sat together for a few minutes, this time in silence. Eventually, Steve looked around for a clock, to check and see what time it was. The hands said the time was four forty-five. He had fifteen minutes before visiting hours were over.

“Peggy?” He turned back to her, and she tore her gaze away from the Glenn Miller records. “Do you think…Is it too late to ask for that date now?”

She looked at him, a gentle expression on her face. Steve was glad he asked.

“Anything for you, Steven.” She scooted forward in her wheelchair, slowly, then eased herself up. Steve kept both hands on her, ready to catch her if she stumbled. She lightly slapped his hands away. “I may be old and slow, but I can still move. Come on.”

He pushed a few of the chairs and tables out of the way to make a little more room for them. When he came back to Peggy’s side, she lifted her hands, placed one on his shoulder, and then clutched one of his hands with the other.

“Place your hand above my waist,” she ordered, a hint of the steel from her youth coming through. He followed her instructions. “You’re the male, so you should lead, but since this is your first time, copy everything I do.”

“Right.” Steve nodded sharply, head already looking down at the ground so he could watch his feet.

“And Rogers? Try not to step on my feet. They’re flat enough, without your assistance.”

Steve smiled.

They stepped gradually, back, then to the side, then forward, and to the side again. The whole thing was leisurely paced, partly because Steve was trying not to stumble or step on Peggy’s slippered feet, and partly because Peggy was too old to move any quicker than the speed they were going.

At one point, one of the nurses came over and put one of the records on. The smooth, hypnotic sounds of Miller’s band streamed out towards them, and Steve’s grip tightened. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he was standing in a club, back in nineteen forty-five, dancing with Peggy.

A cool hand touched his face, and he opened his eyes.

“Don’t do that,” Peggy spoke softly. Her eyes were intent on his face, as if she could make him understand what she was saying thorugh the force of them. “Stay right here, in this time. Don’t dwell on the past, Steven. You can move on; you’re ready now.”

Something within him eased.

As they came to a stop a few moments later, he realised what he had done. He had just let go of it; of what he used to be. And he was alright with that.

“Thank you, Peggy,” Steve pulled her into a hug, and she gently patted his back, “for everything.”

She pulled away first, gradually made her way over to her chair. When she had sat down, she looked up at Steve.

“No, thank you. You’ve made an old woman very happy.”

Reluctantly, Steve looked over to chack the time. It was five o’clock. If he didn’t leave, they would probably throw him out.

“I have to go now,” he said regretfully, picked up his now empty bag, and knelt by her side one more time. “But I’ll be back soon to visit you again.”

“Don’t get lost on your way,” she warned. “I might not be here the next time you think to stop by.”

Steve grinned, kissed her on the cheek, and stood up to leave. The room had emptied out, and Steve couldn’t resist one last look over his shoulder as he pushed open the doors leading to the entrance hallway.

“Finally!” Tony’s voice came from behind him. He had been waiting by the doors, apparently. “No offense, I mean, I know you guys were having your “Oldies but Goodies” bonding time, or whatever, but you have no idea how uncomfortable it is sitting in the same chair for hours—”

He cut off abruptly.

Steve blinked, confused, and pulled his gaze away from Peggy, who was being pushed away by a nurse, to glance at Tony. A peculiar expression was on his face, as if he had just realized something very important, and he was staring at something over Steve’s shoulder. When Steve turned to see what Tony was looking at, he saw Peggy, looking back to Tony, then turning around to face the front as she disappeared around a corner.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, finally closing the door behind him. They made their way to the reception desk, where he had to sign his name again. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long. We got to talking and time really flew by.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Tony waved a hand, much like Peggy had earlier, as they stepped outside. “Old people give me hives and other unmentionable side effects, especially when they’re all former SHIELD agents.”

“Really?” Steve stopped walking and stared at Tony. “How did you know that?”

He shrugged, “Hacked SHIELD’s database, you know, all that cool stuff.”

They got into the car. Tony cracked his knuckles, said, “Okay, let’s blow this popsicle stand,” and started to put the key in the ignition. Steve stopped him.

“Tony,” he started, for some reason talking very quietly, “It means a lot to me, that you took the time to bring me here.”

Tony’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as he swallowed. He made a weak attempt at rescuing his wrist from Steve’s grasp, gave up after a few seconds. “It’s not a problem, Rogers. It’s not like I get a chance to drive any of my babies for trips farther than the city outskirts. Unless Pepper’s angry because if Pepper’s angry, then that means Not So Good things for me, and in that case anything and anyplace is fair game--”

“Tony,” Steve interrupted. And he thought about how Peggy had told him at one point that he should take the time he had and use it wisely, especially when it came to love, because you never knew when you were going to come by it again, if you would.

He recalled Tony’s treatment of him, how welcoming but distant he had been during Steve’s first few weeks in the Tower, and how he had warmed up to him. He had still been his snarky self, and they still fought, but sometimes Tony would do something or say something that Steve knew only he was privy to; and it only caused Steve to fall more in love with him. They were close, closer to each other than to the other Avengers, and closer, Steve admitted, than he had been with Bucky.

Tony turned his face towards Steve’s, and swallowed again. For a brief moment, Steve had a flash of doubt, then saw the tiniest flicker of something unnamable in Tony’s eyes. Steeling his nerves, Steve smoothly slid the hand grasping Tony’s wrist, up his arm and came to stop at his jaw. He cupped it gently. Then, Steve kissed him.

Tony’s lips pressed back against his after a moment, and he let out a tiny sigh. It was a little awkward, and dry and uncomfortable because of the way Steve was craning his neck, but he didn’t care. He had thought about it for so long, had wanted it so badly, but had been too afraid of making the first move to do anything. But now, now he was getting what he wanted and it was perfect. He pulled away after a moment, gently rubbing his thumb across the skin below Tony’s ear.

Steve opened his mouth to say something—anything—when Tony looped an arm around the back of his neck, and pulled him back down for another kiss. 

This one was no less uncomfortable, but Tony had taken control, and where the first one had been shy and gentle, this one was faster and tinged with eagerness. His tongue flicked against Steve’s lip, and he opened his mouth. Everything, the hand on the back of his neck, the rough scratch of Tony’s beard against his face, had him shifting to get more, made him grip Tony tighter.

Eventually, Steve broke the kiss, but he didn’t go far.

“Sorry, I honestly hadn’t planned on doing that,” he explained, trying to even his breathing, though Tony didn’t look as if he minded the kiss too much. “I only wanted to let you know how I—that I—I like you, Tony.”

 “No, no. That was…good,” was his eager and breathless reply. “I’m pretty sure making out with Captain America in the front seat of a car is definitely on Pepper’s “Don’t Let Tony Do” list. Not that I ever really followed it in the first place. Feel free to do it anytime you want.”

Steve chuckled and, after stealing another short kiss withdrew. He pressed a hand down on his hair in an attempt to flatten it, since it had gotten a little messy when Tony had run his hands through it.

 “If that’s how you react every time I take you out of town, I’ll definitely be doing it more often. I wonder what I’ll get if I take you out of the country.” Tony grinned cheekily, which Steve couldn’t help returning.

“Just drive, Tony.”

***

The next day, while Tony was attempting to teach Steve how to scan and bring up three-dimensional images of his drawings, Clint came in and wordlessly held out his phone.

“For me?” He asked confused.

Tony sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you to charge your phone at night?”

Steve ignored him and pressed the phone to his ear.

“Captain, it’s Peggy.”

The air left his lungs at hearing the three words that immediately sprouted from Coulson’s mouth.

“What’s wrong?” His urgent tone got Tony’s attention. “Is she okay?”

“Captain, I…” Coulson sighed. “Steve, she passed away last night. Not too soon after six.”

_I might not be here the next time you think to stop by._

Steve gritted his teeth, and closed his eyes. Had she known?

***

When Steve and Peggy had met again a few days ago, he had been happy to finally get the dance he had waited so long to receive. It was his first. But it had been Peggy’s last.

There were eight people in attendance at the funeral, and that included the priest. The rest of the Avengers had decided to join him and Tony when they informed them about Peggy’s funeral. Coulson hadn’t been able to get in touch with the last surviving member of her family, but Steve felt it didn’t matter as long as someone who cared about her was there

A few tears slid down Steve’s cheeks as Peggy’s casket was lowered into the ground. She had requested to be buried next to her husband, and Tony, who had offered to pay for any costs that had risen, made it happen.

The prayer finally finished, the priest shut his Bible, shook their hands, and left.

Tony set down the bouquet of white flowers (one’s _he_ had purchased because he reminded Steve he had told him that he could purchase the flowers the next time they came) and Steve turned to the others.

“Thank you, everyone, for agreeing to come to Peggy’s funeral, even though you didn’t know her,” Steve said sincerely. “I would have liked you all to meet her, and it’s unfortunate that this is how it happened.”

Natasha brushed her hand across his shoulder in a comforting gesture. No one said anything for a few minutes after that, until someone did.

“We should drink to the fair maiden’s departure from this world.” Thor announced in the loud, grandiose way he did most things.

“I’m pretty sure Peggy was about as ‘fair’ pushing a hundred as Natasha is now,” Clint snickered, and wasn’t quick enough to dodge the jab to ribs. “Ow! Coulson, Natasha poked me!”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Natasha sniffed.

“What do you expect me to do about it, Barton?” Coulson asked, sounding not the least bit interested in Clint’s problems. “Romanoff, at least wait until we get back to the Tower to start smearing his blood all over the place. The stains would be impossible to explain in my report otherwise.”

 “That’s not really how we handle things here,” Bruce was explaining to Thor. “When we mourn someone who’s died, there’s usually a lot of casseroles and other foods that are consumed. Comfort foods.”

“You Midgardians do not drink when your companions pass?” Thor sounded disappointed, then confused. “The culture here is very different from my homeland.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Tony rolled his eyes. “Where ale pints never run dry and birds poop gold. It’s like living in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory, and the Oompa Loompas are the Jotunheim, except bigger.”

Steve looked around as his friends argued and bickered, and couldn’t help but smile. His gaze shifted to Peggy’s grave.

_Stay right here, in this time. Don’t dwell on the past, Steven. You can move on; you’re ready now._

“Thank you, Peggy,” he whispered. “Thank you for holding on long enough to give me the shove that I needed. You always knew what to say to make me pick my head up and pay attention.”

Steve closed his eyes.

“Hey.”

Tony’s soft voice broke him from his thoughts, and he opened his eyes to look over. The others had started their way back to the cars. Tony found his hand, squeezed it.

“We’re all going for some shawarma. You in?”

“Yeah,” Steve took one last look at the long, sleek casket that held his first love, and turned away. He smiled at Tony. “I’m in.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> No, Peggy isn't actually related to the Parkers, but I thought it would be kind of cool anyway. So I did it. I DO WHAT I WANT!
> 
> A companion piece to this story in either Coulson's or Peggy's POV or both is something I'm considering. What do you guys think?


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